Sweet Dreams
by auroraskyes
Summary: Dreams are more powerful than one would like to think. Sequel to Eternity, SSa, AU.
1. Part One

**Title:** Sweet Dreams

**Author:** auroraskyes37

**Rating: **PG-13

**Disclaimer:** Alias is not mine.

**Feedback:** is totally appreciated.

**Archive:** You want it, ask me first.

**Summary:** Dreams are more powerful than one would like to think. 

**Ship:** Sydney/Sark

**Timeline:** Sequel to Eternity, AU, Futurefic

**Category:** Angst, Action/Adventure, Romance

**A/N:** Wow! After a few months of planning and writing, I finally got the first part out! This is a sequel, so it's preferable if you read Eternity (storyid=1258717) first. Anyway, I just want to thank everyone that reviewed Eternity and pushed for a sequel. The hugest thanks **ever** to Mel, a wonderful, amazing, fantastic writer/reviewer/beta/muse/friend extraordinaire, who helped me so much. Without her, this would have been practically impossible. Italics are dreams, flashbacks, and thoughts. Enjoy, and don't forget to review. 

**Part One**

_"Where are we going?" Sydney asks curiously, as she gets into the car with __Sark__._

_"I have to take care of something. It won't take long," he promises her, knowing that she wants to get away, to take their vacation already. "I have to meet with one of my old contacts. He called me very urgently this morning, and then the line broke. Something is up." _

_"__Sark__…" She looks at him, worried._

_"I know, it might be dangerous.__ But the man who called me was a good friend—as good as friends can be in this kind of life. I think I owe it to him. Stay in the car, okay, __Sydney__?"__ His driver stops in front of the house. _

_"No way.__ I'm going with you. I don't want anything to happen to you." She exits the car before he can protest and begins walking up to the front door. _

_Sark__ gets a bad feeling, but shoves it away. He just needs to make sure his friend is okay. He wants to tell __Sydney__ to stay in the car, but she is stubborn and going to ignore his concern. They walk up the stone path and ring the doorbell. When nobody answers, __Sark__ places a hand on the doorknob and twists. The door opens. "Something's wrong," he whispers to __Sydney__. "His housekeeper should've answered the door. Stay behind me, and be careful." _

_As the two of them creep into the house, __Sark__ keeps his hand on his gun, watching carefully for anything out of the ordinary. When they reach the kitchen, __Sark__ suddenly finds himself staring down the barrel of a Glock. "Sloane," he says, cursing himself for not preparing for an ambush. _

_"__Sark__.__ And __Sydney__, how nice of you to join us."__ Sloane smiles, fixing his gaze behind Sark, the gun still leveled. _

_Sark__ instinctively steps in front of __Sydney__ as if to act as a shield for her. _

_Sloane sneers, "How touching this is. Hand over the artifacts." _

_Sark__ is thoroughly confused. He has no clue why Sloane would be here, and is almost certain that he and Sydney have no artifacts. "I don't have any," he tells Sloane. _

_"I didn't say you did. But I believe __Sydney__ knows something about it." _

_As __Sark__ starts to turn to look at __Sydney__, out of the corner of his eye, he sees a flash of movement. "No!" He yells, as Sloane's gun discharges. The bullet had been aimed for __Sydney__; she had tried to snatch __Sark__'s gun and take down Sloane. _

_Sark turns and catches Sydney as she falls to the floor, a single bullet to the head, her eyes wide with shock. "I'm sorry," she whispers._

_"No… __Sydney__… no."__ Sark pleads with her not to leave him, knowing that this is all his fault. "It's I who should be sorry."_

----

**Kaikoura****, **New Zealand********

He stares out the open window, at the huge expanse of beach, ocean, and sky lying in front of him. The waves crash softly and a gentle breeze ruffles his hair. The stars and moon shine brightly in the night sky. He smiles slightly, but nothing can take his mind off the dreams. They've been more frequent ever since he moved here, taking her with him. It may start out differently, but the ending never changes. She ends up being hurt, or worse, dead, all because of him. It doesn't matter if he is the one that actually pulls the trigger, because it ends the same, by his actions. He doesn't know why he has been dreaming of hurting her; in reality, it is something he would never intentionally do. The dreams are starting to worry him, because he knows that dreams are rooted in something, especially dreams that stir such powerful emotions. He fears what the dreams may mean, what they are saying about his subconscious mind. 

"Sark?"

He turns and sees her leaning against the doorway of the room, a concerned look on her face.

"What's wrong, love?"

She allows a small smile at his term of endearment to her. The past few weeks have been refreshing, especially after three years of living a complete lie of a life. She almost feels renewed; he has allowed her time to heal, always being concerned for her well-being. Though the time spent with him has been short, she has noticed something a little off about him. At first, she thought it to be the three years since she had last seen him. Three years would not be considered that long, but it was long enough for someone to change, even someone like him. His eyes seemed to hold a bit of sadness in them, something she was surprised to see. He could've very well changed during the past three years, but she knows that there is something else. Something he is afraid to tell her. This isn't the first time he has woken up in the middle of the night. Whenever he leaves the bed at night, she always finds him at the window, staring at the sea.

"Are you okay?" She tilts her head slightly as she walks toward him. She allows herself to melt into his embrace.

"Yes, I'm fine." He smiles softly and kisses the top of her head, as if to prove his point. "Let's go back to bed, shall we?"

----

As the two of them lie on the beach the next day, he allows himself to run his mind through all his thoughts. Aside from the dreams he has and the concern he knows she has after finding him out of bed in the middle of the night, their lives could very well be mistaken for normal. Even as he thinks about it, he laughs at the absurdity. Their lives would never be perfect normal. Spies could not discard their subconscious want for the adrenaline rush, for the excitement that comes from being on a top-secret mission. No matter how bad, how unnerving the spy life could be at times, even he cannot deny that he misses the constant excitement, the quick-paced way they flew through the days. It does not matter now, because they are here, together. He glances over at her, carefully, as she props herself up on her elbows and pulls out a bottle of sunscreen from her bag.

She smiles, feeling his gaze on her. He has always looked at her with an intensity that could be seen in his beautiful blue eyes. His gaze sort of burns through her; it would make some people uneasy, but if she allows herself to feel uneasy about something like that, she wouldn't have survived her life as a spy. She uncaps the sunscreen and is about to pour some into her hand when—

"Here. Let me." He takes the bottle of sunscreen from her and motions for her to lie down on her stomach. He pours the sunscreen on her exposed back, spreading it slowly, while massaging her back gently, at the same time. His fingers move nimbly and even after all this time, she still fells a shiver of excitement go down her spine at his touch. His hands are moving in soothing motions and she sighs as she relaxes.

"Mmm… Feels good." She turns over at his request and giggles at the feel of his fingers tickling her stomach lightly. She allows him to spread the sunscreen over her legs and arms as well as her neck, before she returns the favor to him. She loves the feel of his abs under her fingers. 

The day passes surprising fast, and she can't help but remember all the times as a spy when she wondered what was so appealing about this kind of life. Normalcy was something she used to crave, but she always thought that she would be working, rushing in and out with a family, a dog, perhaps. She never expected to spend her days not really doing anything except enjoying life. These few weeks here with him have showed her that although not working and rushing in and out with a family isn't full of excitement, it does have its upsides. With the right person, she will gladly spend the rest of her days like this. 

----

_Sark__ feels his body tense as he walks slowly through the empty house. Where is he? He doesn't know, but it isn't important. He knows someone else is here, and he must be ready to defend himself. "Show yourself." He says, a bit forcefully. Nobody appears. Perhaps he should just leave, he thinks. But he continues to walk slowly, looking in every room carefully for any signs of an ambush. _

_The door to the last room down the hall is closed. He listens carefully, then opens the door slowly, one inch at a time. He is startled by the sound of his name. "__Sark__?"__ For some reason, __Sydney__ stands before him. She is wearing a white dress and a smile. "What are you doing?"_

_"Why are you here?" He ignores her questions and throws her one of his own, feeling extremely on edge. _

_"This is our house. Why do you have a knife?" She raises an eyebrow at him, and nods toward the object in his hand._

_He glances down and notices that, indeed, he is clutching a sharp knife in his right hand. "You're lying." He walks toward her, gradually._

_"Why would I lie?" __Sydney__ is feeling just a bit uneasy, and takes a step back for each step he takes toward her. "Will you put the knife down? It's making me nervous."_

_"I would remember if this was my—our—house." He doesn't let go of his grip on the knife, nor does he stop walking towards her. _

_She starts to look panicked, her eyes darting around the room. After a few more steps backwards, she backs into the wall. "__Sark__.__ Tell me what's wrong. Please put down the knife," she looks into his eyes, pleading with him._

_Sark__ stands about two feet away from her, ignoring everything she says. He smirks at her worried expression. "I'm not going to hurt you."_

_She gives him a nervous smile and tries to dodge to the side, out of his reach. Before __Sark__ can control his own movements, his right hand shoots up to her neck.__ His reflexes take over as he swiftly slashes across her throat. A scream escapes __Sydney__'s lips as she slides down against the wall, down to the floor. She crumples to the ground and puts her hand against her wound. "__Sark__…"_

_At the sight of the blood pouring from her slashed throat, he drops the knife, horrified. He feels frozen, glued to the spot. He is unable to look away or get down and help her. The dark crimson liquid continues to ooze from the gash on her neck, staining her white dress and getting sticky on her skin. She doesn't speak again, but instead continues to look at him with wide, sorrowful, pained eyes._

_A sob escapes him and before he knows it, he is crying and kneeling before her. The blood is forming a puddle on the floor and as he reaches out to touch her, __Sark__'s shaky hands become covered with the warm, thick fluid as well. There is a powerful metallic stench, and though the smell of blood has never bothered him before, this time, it makes him want to vomit. Her eyes eventually close, and he gets up and runs, out of the house, away from his dead love. _

----

"Sark. Sark. Wake up." She gently shakes him, trying to take him out of dreams, to get him to stop thrashing.

With a scream, his eyes shoot wide open. His face feels covered in water, but when he licks his lips, he tastes salt. He holds his hand up to his face and feels it, cold and wet with tears. He turns to her; her eyes are wide with worry.

"Are you okay? What happened?" 

Upon hearing her concern, he composes himself and shoves the dream from his mind. "I'm fine. Just a dream. That's all. Just a bad dream." He holds out his arms and takes her in his embrace, kissing the top of her forehead. "I'm okay." He wasn't sure who he was trying to convince more.

"You were shaking and crying and screaming. What happened in the dream?" She looks into his eyes and wipes the tears off his face, letting her hand rest on his shoulder. 

"It's okay. Don't worry about it."  

She looks at him, knowing there is something more. "Sark…"

"I don't remember, okay?" All of a sudden, he feels exasperated at her questioning. He knows he can't lie to her, she can read him too well, but he prays that she will just accept it. The images from the dreams are still vivid and bright, painfully real in his mind. This time was different. She didn't die instantly, and he was forced to see the consequences of his actions. All that blood. How could he have killed her? What is going on? Are the dreams going to continue to get worse and worse?

She studies his expression carefully, for she knows that he remembers the dream. She knows that something has been going on for a while. After all the times he has gotten up in the middle of the night, she suspects that he has had this dream for a while. She touches his arm gently to get his attention. "Sark… Please tell me. Maybe I could help. That's… that's what I'm here for. You helped me. I want to help you." She looks into his eyes and sees sorrow in them.

"Look, I said it was just a bad dream." He sighs as he sees her hurt expression. "Sydney… I promise. I'm completely fine. I don't want you to get worried over nothing." His eyes plead with her, wanting her to accept it.

She closes her eyes and allows herself to relax in his arms. "Okay. I believe you. I won't bother you about it."

_I'll let it go, for now._

He kisses the top of her head once again and closes his eyes. "Sweet dreams, love."

**A/N:** If you reviewed, I'd love you forever. Thanks for reading and stay tuned.


	2. Part Two

**A/N: **Sorry for the major delay. School is a killer! As always, thanks much to Mel for all the wonderful help. And also thanks to her for putting up with my complaining and whining, and all the silly things I tend to say at around 12AM.

**Part Two__**

_Sark__ parks the car and walks the short distance to the large mansion where the ball is being held. Sydney is waiting for him at the front door, chatting with the door attendant. His breath catches in his throat as he catches sight of her, dressed beautifully in a black dress with spaghetti straps. It hugs her body, accenting her curves. The bottom of the dress flares out slightly, resting just above the ground. The knee high slit on both sides show off her long legs and strappy black sandals. Her hair is swept up in an elegant updo, soft tendrils framing her face gently. There's a bit of glitter in her hair, which catches the light. She beams as she catches sight of him, dressed in a white button down under a black suit jacket with a bowtie and black dress pants._

_He walks up to her, greets the door attendant and offers her his arm. "Shall we?" _

_She smiles and places her hand on his upper arm, nodding to everyone they pass on their way in. _

_He leans down and whispers into her ear. "You look beautiful." He gently fingers the tendrils of hair that frame her face._

_A slight blush creeps into her cheeks as she tells him, "You look gorgeous too."_

_Inside, the main ballroom is bustling with people, and they greet friends and acquaintances alike before taking their seats for dinner. During dinner, everyone at the table introduces him or herself and soon falls into comfortable conversations._

_After dinner, the small orchestra in the corner begins to play slow melodies. The host of the party encourages everyone to get up and dance. _

_Sark__ stands up and holds a hand out to __Sydney__._

_"May I have this dance?"_

_She doesn't hesitate. Smiling, she takes his offered hand. "Of course." _

_They move to the dance floor. __Sark__ wraps an arm around her waist and pulls her close. She slides her free hand behind his shoulder. They follow the slow beat, losing themselves in the music and in each other._

_When the night is over, they stand in the parking lot, walking towards the car usually driven by __Sydney__. Since they arrived in separate cars, they have to drive both home. _

_"Mmmm," __Sydney__ mumbles after planting a short kiss on __Sark__'s lips. "You want to drive this one?"_

_He nods, pulling her in for another, slightly longer kiss. _

_As Sydney walks slowly away, further into the lot, Sark stares after her, admiring the way she looks in that stunning dress, the way her hips swing, the way her body curves. When she disappears from view, he climbs into the car. He frowns as he spots a folded white piece of paper on the passenger seat. Picking it up and unfolding it, his eyes widen at the two words written: SAY GOODBYE. _

_He throws open the door and begins to run in the direction __Sydney__ went in, the square paper clutched in his hand. In the silent, still night, he can hear the distinct sound of a car engine stalling. There is about a second of silence, and all he can hear is his feet on the pavement, his heart pounding in his ears. He hears the engine again._

_An explosion blows the car into bits, the orange and red flames light the sky as __Sark__ watches on in horror. The fire crackles and erupts into the night. The bright colors dance in his eyes as the suddenly overwhelming heat swelters around him. The images, replaying in his head like a movie stuck on repeat, suffocate him. The grey smoke mingles with the flames drifting around him. The burning smell, along with the paper in his hand, is a taunting reminder that it is ultimately his fault. _

_All his__ fault._

----

"Morning," she whispers into his ear, still tucked into his side, under his arm. 

"Morning." He smiles and turns over to kiss her lightly.

"How did you sleep?" She keeps her eyes on his face, looking for any indication of any bad dreams.

"Good." He tries to keep his tone matter of fact, mentally blocking the images in the dream from his mind.

She doesn't believe him, but doesn't push it.

At the breakfast table, he asks her, "Any exciting plans today?" 

They smile at each other knowingly, an inside joke that would mean nothing to outsiders. Nothing on the island could compare to their previous lives but they both enjoy it that way. 

She shrugs and tells him through a mouthful of bagel, "I don't know. I might drive to Mel's. It looks like it's going to rain tonight." 

At the mention of driving, the images of explosion and fire flash through his mind. "Why don't we just stay in today?" He knows his suggestion is right out of left field, because he has never been one to suggest staying in. He tries to keep his strange fears out of his voice.

"Yeah, sure, I guess." Something nags at her. She suspects there's a reason for this request. 

They spend the day in front of the fireplace, letting the warmth from each other and the fire block out the cold front that seems to be moving in. If not for the small worry that still unsettles her, everything would be perfect. She smiles to herself ironically. One year ago, when she lived alone, slowly spiraling away from herself, living the broken life, she would've never imagined having a normal life ever again. She would've never imagined even seeing Sark again, much less being content with him. The thought of perfection at that time scared her, for what did she have besides broken and shattered pieces? 

He notices the smile and content look on her face. "What are you thinking about?"

"This. Us. How normal. How perfect." She smiles sheepishly and nestles closer to him.

Her innocent statement brings a pang to him, causing an unsettling feeling in his stomach. If only she knew… 

She lifts her head off his shoulder and glances out the window, where dark clouds are rolling in over their heads. "It looks like it's about to pour. I'm going to move the car to the garage." She gets up and walks to get the keys. 

"No," he blurts out quickly.

She freezes halfway across the room and looks at him. "What?"

"Just…" He realizes that now she'll know something is wrong. "I'll move it. You should sit back down." He gets up and grabs the keys before she says anything.

"Sark, what's going on? Is everything…" She stares at him, silently asking for an explanation.

"Nothing," he protests softly. "Why would anything be going on?"

"You are acting very oddly. First, you actually want to stay home the whole day. Now, you won't let me move the car. Something is going on. Plus, I know there's more to your bad dream the night before. Did it involve cars by any chance?"

"I—well, kind of. It's silly, really," he insists weakly. 

"Sark." She grabs his arm, gently. "Please tell me." Her eyes plead with his.

He sighs, dropping the keys back onto the counter. "Okay." He takes her hand and threads his fingers in hers. "Syd… You know that I've been having these dreams. But you have no idea… how… painful they are." A look of confusion flashes over her face as she opens her mouth to say something, but he holds up a finger. "I won't lie to you. I don't know why I've been having these dreams, or even… what they say about me. In real life, I would never—"

"Sark." She says again, this time softer. Her eyes are wide with concern and curiosity. She touches his arm gently. "It's okay. Just say it."

"Sydney… the dreams are about you." He keeps an eye on her expression, watching a myriad of emotions flash across her face. 

Her eyes widen in surprise, then cloud over in confusion. "But… I don't understand. What's so bad about these dreams?"

"In all of them, something bad happens to you. You are either murdered or injured very badly. By me, Sydney. It's always my fault. I kill you in these dreams of mine." He watches, waits for her inevitable reaction, wondering how bad it will be. He also contemplates the million-dollar question:

_Will you run?_

This time, her face twists into a strange expression, her mouth opening and closing, with no sound coming from it. 

He gives a low chuckle, finding it a bit amusing that she cannot find any words. Though she may not always be the person most in control of herself, he has hardly had the honor to ever see her speechless. "Shocked?" He even surprises himself with the slight bitterness in his tone.

"You kill me?!" She bursts out suddenly, as if his words have just sunken in. She takes a step back, tears filling her wide, beautiful brown eyes. 

He frowns now, his brow creasing in concern. "Sydney—"

A sob escapes her, interrupting anything he would've said. She continues to stare at him, a horrified and shocked expression glued to her face. Tears spill over onto her cheeks every time she blinks.

He takes a step forward, holding out his hand as if to wipe away her tears, but she keeps moving back with each step he takes forward. 

"Stop." She manages to choke out, a whimper escaping from her. He almost doesn't comply, until a shiver runs through him, giving him a sense of déjà vu—almost the exact same scenario playing out now, happened in his dream. He takes a breath and stops in his tracks, watching her struggle to control herself—and her emotions. She draws in a shaky breath and looks him in the eyes. He sees something change in her, she no longer looks upset, instead, her eyes flash with something he hasn't seen very often in the past few months—anger. "I can't believe—how can you do that?"

He blinks, almost not realizing she has spoken. He doesn't understand her question as he himself would have no control over his dreams. "What do you mean? Do what?"

Her eyes narrow. "I mean, how can you keep dreaming about killing me? How can you want me dead?! I thought—look, you are the only person I have left in this world. Everyone else is already gone. It broke me once Sark, remember that? If you want me dead, what am I supposed to think? What am I supposed to do? What should I do?" Her voice comes out broken at first, but with each word, it gets stronger and louder.

His eyes widen at her outburst. "Sydney, please! You have to know that I would never want to hurt you—"

She ignores him. "How do I know that? You said so yourself, you've been having these dreams for some time. Dreams don't pop out of nowhere; obviously, some part of you wants me dead! If it happened once, twice, maybe it could be a fluke. I know the life we used to lead can bring about horrible things. But continuously, Sark, you can't tell me it's no big deal." She sees him about to protest and plunges on, "Not to mention, I don't know you at all. You know everything about me, but I hardly know anything about you." 

He almost recoils at her harsh words, but opens him mouth to try to explain—again—"Sydney, I'm not telling you to dismiss it. But you wanted to know—"

"Don't try to turn this around. I'm glad I asked."

"I'm not—listen to me," he attempts to stay calm, but his patience is slowly disappearing, "Do you think I want these dreams? Do you think I want to have these images in my head, of your dead body? You have no idea how real they are, Sydney. How they scare me. You think I don't know that dreams stem from somewhere?"

"Then you acknowledge that you want me dead, that you want to kill me in your subconscious?" 

"No! This is why I didn't want to tell you. I know you Sydney. I knew you would act like this. Stop being so stubborn and listen to me."

She bristles at his statement. "I don't think so. I'm through listening. If I'm so stubborn, I'm sure you won't mind me gone." She brushes past him.

He follows her to their bedroom, pleading with her, "Sydney, just listen to me." When she ignores him, he grabs her arm, trying to keep her from leaving. "Don't do this. Where will you go?"

She throws a few of her things into a duffel bag, and shakes off the hand he placed on her arm. "Doesn't matter. It's better than staying here."

She grabs her set of car keys and he knows his attempts to make her stay are futile. He knows her and knows how stubborn she is. The more he tries to explain, the more she will resist. With that thought in consideration, he watches her walk out the door, and out of his life—for the time being. He allows himself to hang on a bit of hope that she will come back. Even so, he walks toward the kitchen—getting out a bottle of liquor—with surprising calmness. He sits down at the kitchen table, and raises the bottle to his lips. He drowns the whole thing in a short amount of time, allowing himself to drink to the point of intoxication. It is the first time in many years he has let himself to do so. He stares at the empty bottle, laughs a bitter laugh, and throws it against the wall. It shatters upon impact. He stands up shakily and stumbles into the living room, leaving the glass shards on the ceramic kitchen tiles. He collapses on the sofa, and goes to sleep.

**A/N:** Review! Thanks! 


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